Madam Wei’s face burned with shame; she could no longer remain inside.
Marchioness followed close behind, while the Shen family members trailed out of Gongde Hall, heads hanging low.
“Mother, please don’t…”
Before Marchioness could finish, Madam Wei turned sharply, her tone biting: “You’ve raised a fine daughter!”
“Mother, calm yourself—your daughter-in-law truly did not know.”
“Enough, enough. You treat me as an outsider. I’ve no reason to meddle in your affairs.”
With anger still simmering, Madam Wei climbed into her carriage. Marchioness and her daughter, hurrying after, nearly collided with her as they tried to catch up.
The carriage rolled away, leaving the others behind.
Seeing this, the remaining members of the Shen family quickly boarded their own carriages and departed.
“Mother, Eldest Sister hasn’t come out yet. Should we wait for her?” Shen Qingyi asked.
“She’s so capable—let her manage on her own!” Marchioness said coldly, stepping into her carriage and ordering the driver to leave at once.
Baique Temple lay dozens of li from the residence. By carriage it took an hour; on foot, one would never arrive before nightfall.
Shen Qingyi did not press further. She bore no malice toward her elder sister, but ever since Eldest Sister’s return, she had been eager to show off, always seeking the spotlight. Shen Qingyi found it distasteful.
Shen Qingyi said softly, “Eldest Sister does not understand the principle that when one prospers, all prosper; when one suffers, all suffer.”
Marchioness nodded in agreement: “You have a broader vision than your elder sister.”
Meanwhile, within the temple, Shen Qingluo had gone to find Douzi and Xiao Ya. The two were happily playing beneath a peach tree, petals drifting down as water murmured nearby.
Xiao Ya wore a crown woven from peach blossoms, proudly showing it off: “Douzi made this for me!”
Douzi shot her a glare. “I was only practicing on you. And besides, you’re a year younger than me—show some respect!”
Xiao Ya ignored him. She liked calling him “Douzi,” the way one might call a beloved puppy raised by his mother—intimate and endearing.
The pair were forever bickering, and Shen Qingluo was long accustomed to it. She smiled: “Enough, it’s getting late. Let’s head back.”
They followed the path to where the carriages were parked. By now it was past the hour of Wei; most of the carriages had already departed. Douzi glanced around—no Shen family carriage in sight. He turned to Shen Qingluo. April sunlight fell across her pale face, yet could not pierce its calm.
Chunlan grew anxious, unsure what to do. Xiao Ya, carefree by nature, felt no urgency. Only Douzi watched Shen Qingluo closely, sensing her mood. He said, “They’ve gone, so let them go. We’ll just hire a carriage back ourselves.”
Shen Qingluo reached out to pat his head. “I’m fine.”
Douzi turned away, muttering, “Who cares about you? I’m only thinking about the book I didn’t finish yesterday.”
Shen Qingluo laughed. “Very well, very well. We’ll hire a carriage.”
Yet at that moment—when she saw no Shen family carriage waiting—her mind flashed back to the day she was sent to the old estate. She had cried out desperately for her mother. Even after climbing into the carriage, her hands clung to the window frame, tears streaming as she asked the stone-faced Nanny Qian outside: “Has Mother abandoned me?”
Nanny Qian said gently, “Miss, Madam could not bear to part with you. She is ill, and so she could not come to see you off.”
At ten years old, Shen Qingluo already understood—at least a little. Perhaps she had been abandoned.
She had been abandoned once again.
Chunlan went off to hire a carriage, while Douzi stayed by Shen Qingluo’s side, occasionally teasing Xiao Ya, deliberately provoking her.
Douzi was usually quiet and reserved; he did so only to keep Shen Qingluo from sitting in silence and to coax a smile from her.
Shen Qingluo’s heart warmed slightly.
As the sun dipped westward, Chunlan returned, wiping sweat from her brow. She had failed to hire a carriage. “Today BaiqueTemple is crowded with pilgrims. Too many people are looking for carriages—I circled around but found none.”
The temple paths wound deep into the mountains, the road twisting endlessly. Shen Qingluo pointed toward a narrow trail half-hidden in the forest. “If we take that way, we can reach Yunwu Pavilion halfway up the mountain. I just saw Madam Zhong, wife of the Minister of Justice, pass by. If we hurry, perhaps she can give us a ride back.”
The three followed her lead. They pressed on, unable to pause for the spring blossoms that covered the hills, and after half a stick of incense’s time, they reached Yunwu Pavilion.
The mountain road lay empty, save for birdsong.
All three turned to look at Shen Qingluo. She faltered. “It should have been the right time.”
They waited. Half an hour passed.
At dusk, the sound of hooves echoed along the mountain road. Around the bend appeared a carriage with a grand canopy, heading toward Yunwu Pavilion.
Xiao Ya cried out in delight, “We’re saved!” She didn’t notice the doubt clouding Shen Qingluo’s face.
The carriage drew nearer. At first glance, it seemed ordinary, with no family name inscribed on the lantern swaying at its front. Yet Shen Qingluo recognized the wood—it was black nanmu, a rare timber. In Shengjing, only members of the imperial clan or two high ministers of the Eastern and Western Offices could afford such luxury. Could it be kin from the Grand Chancellor’s household?
But she had no ties with that venerable lord’s family; to intrude uninvited would be improper. Pulling Xiao Ya back, she whispered, “That’s not the Zhong family’s carriage. We’d better keep away.”
The carriage rolled past, and she caught only a glimpse of a blue curtain.
Chunlan rubbed her aching legs, glancing at the sinking sun with fear. “My lady, we won’t have to spend the night on the mountain, will we?”
A few crows cawed, startling Shen Qingluo. She clutched her thin robe tighter and resolved, “We’ll go down the mountain. Perhaps we’ll meet a passing carriage. If not, we’ll hire one in the nearest town.”
By her reckoning, they might still reach the city gates before they closed.
The four weary souls had barely taken two steps when the carriage from before returned, stopping right before them.
The driver was a young man with dark skin and bright eyes. He addressed her respectfully: “Miss Shen, are you bound for the capital?”
Shen Qingluo found his face familiar, and he seemed to know her. Politely she asked, “Indeed, I am returning to the capital. May I ask who you are?”
He replied, “I am Tian Zhi. Inside the carriage is my master, Fourth Master. Since you are headed to the capital, you may travel with us.”
Shen Qingluo froze. Fourth Master? A face flashed across her mind—she suddenly remembered who this was. He was Ye Huaijin’s personal attendant! Her legs nearly gave way.
“Miss Shen?” Tian Zhi prompted again when she remained silent.
Inside her mind, heaven and earth were at war. She wanted to say: *Your Fourth Lord and I are fated to clash. I fear him to death—sharing a carriage back to the capital would give me nightmares for nights on end.*
But such words could never be spoken aloud. Besides, this “uncle” was offering kindness, and she truly did need a carriage.
At last, Shen Qingluo bit down hard and agreed.
Tian Zhi grinned. “Miss Shen, please.” He added cheerfully, “My master’s carriage is large—your maids will fit as well.”
“Many thanks.” She stepped onto the footboard and lifted the curtain. Her breath caught.
The carriage was spacious, carpeted, with a small table set with tea and pastries. A faint sandalwood fragrance lingered in the air.
Behind the table sat a man, upright and composed. He toyed with a string of small red sandalwood prayer beads, his eyes half-closed. At the sound of the curtain lifting, they opened. They were eyes black as ink—cold, restrained, and precise. A touch more would be too heavy, a touch less too careless.
Relying on the dim glow of that night’s luminous pearl, Shen Qingluo feigned ignorance, lowered her gaze, steadied herself, and offered a formal bow. “This humble girl, Shen Qingluo, greets Your Lordship.” Her voice was tight, as though afraid he might detect something amiss.
“Get in first.” His voice was deep, tinged with the sandalwood’s calm weight.